To Build a Home
by petrichorandperennials
Summary: She was born to call this place "home". He grew to think of it as his own. What better place to fall in love? A series of Harry and Ginny drabbles set exclusively at The Burrow.
1. i, convoluted

**Author's Note:** I like this setting challenge. I like the prompts. I like my two OTPs. So I am doing them both, with different settings. This is one for Harry and Ginny, and the setting is The Burrow. I'm sort of excited to try writing both pairs at the same time, with the same prompt words. Should be fun! x

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i. convoluted

He thinks that it's an incredibly lovely day for Quidditch. It's sunny, but the soft white clouds drifting lazily through the July-blue sky block the sun just enough to keep it from hindering his vision and causing glare on his glasses. It's the best sort of day, actually, and he thinks that perhaps his view on the subject has been a bit affected by the fact that he's getting to play Quidditch with his girlfriend who has been blissfully inclined to wear a very short pair of cutoff shorts today, providing him a wonderful view of her long, freckled legs.

"Oi!"

The yell comes from across the field and Harry ducks just in time for a bludger to brush over the top of his head. He glares at Ron, who is smirking at him proudly, a bat held in his crossed arms.

"Maybe if you'd stop ogling at my sister you would have been able to dodge that one a bit better," he shouts over the steady wind, though the corners of his mouth are tilted upward. Harry scowls and looks over at Ginny who is flying at his level, and she meets his eye, a large grin on her face. She winks and his stomach swoops pleasantly.

"Sod off, Ron," she says loudly, but she's still looking at Harry and the swooping in his stomach becomes more pronounced.

"Bloody hell, you two," Ron groans, flying over next to them and rolling his eyes, "Do you want to play or not?"

Harry swallows and tries to answer, but finds himself strangely unable to form words as Ginny winks at him again, her red hair breezily whipping around her face.

"Oh forget it, I'm going to go see if mum's made lunch," Ron mutters, and descends to the ground, making a show of stomping off towards the house. Harry watches him for a moment and then turns back to the girl who is hovering in the air next to him.

"Guess we better put this stuff up," she says, gesturing to the quaffle tucked under her right arm and Harry nods, beginning the drop to the ground.

Harry wrestles the single bludger to the ground fairly quickly, and Ginny pockets the snitch that she had zoomed after and caught quickly. He follows her to the broom shed, the black ball struggling under his grip, and he brushes off his hair absentmindedly as a few spiders fall from the ceiling when he passes through the door.

The shed is much too small for the both of them, and it makes his heart hammer a bit faster, but he tries to focus on the cracks in the wooden walls and not on the way her arse looks as she bends down to strap the balls into a case one at a time. She finishes, straightens up, and turns to Harry, a manic smile on her lips. He doesn't have time to wonder why, because in a second she has him pressed against the wall and her lips are on his, sweet and soft and insistent and he feels quite as if that bludger had whacked him in the head after all. He falls into her rhythm quickly, however, and lets his hands glide down her back, resting just where her shirt has ridden up above her jeans to reveal a patch of skin. She sighs into his mouth and he's overwhelmed by the scent of flowers that always seems to ride on her breath and in the strands of her hair. Harry finds all at once that he's not at all concerned that the broom shed is much too small, and that there are probably a dozen spiders in his hair, or that he's had to position himself in a convoluted, bent over sort of way to better reach her neck, because when he kisses her on the patch of skin just below her ear she shivers despite the summer heat and he really can't imagine a better way to spend a day like this.

Not even Quidditch would be better.

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Heheh hehehe hehehehehee. I haven't written Ginny and Harry in awhile but I love them and I am re-reading HBP right now and having a lot of Hinny feels so ANYWAY. This is happening. *continues to giggle madly*


	2. ii, extensive

**Author's Note: **I've spent too much time stargazing this week.

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ii. Extensive

The wait is excruciating. Miserable, lonely, and terrified she waits, barely sleeping and dreaming of Snitches and broken limbs in her rare moments of unconsciousness. In the dark of night, the house creaking around her, she knows that she's not the only one awake. Pulling on a pair of shorts, she pads across the room, chancing a glance out the window to reassure herself that the protective enchantments around the house are still holding, and feels her breath release as she spots the faint glittering that indicates the spell's continued presence. She heads to her desk, sitting down and tugging the chain of her lamp, creating a small bubble of warm light around her. When she gets like this, restless and uneasy, she writes to him. She never sends the letters, knowing that her owl will find Harry but also knowing that it would be dangerous, even deadly, if he did. She tells him about the outside world, sometimes. She wonders if they get news wherever they are, wherever they are traveling. She writes to remind him that she's still fighting. Sometimes she tells him how she feels, the things she never got to tell him, but she crumples these letters and hides them inside of sweet wrappers in her waste bin. Tonight, the words don't come as easily, so she sets her things down and crosses her room, opening the door and shutting it behind her as quietly as she can, so as not to wake up anyone else in the house. She steps quietly down three flights of stairs and out the back door, past the pile of Wellington boots on the stoop and into the cold, slightly frosty grass. Her feet chill instantly, but quickly become numb as she walks to a spot a few yards from the house where the protective spells create a sort of barrier. For one, crazy moment, she considers stepping through the glittering wall, making a run for it, going anywhere but where she is. Maybe finding Harry. But she stops herself. She lays down in the grass, settling into the ground and cursing herself for not putting on a jumper. When she gets a good look at the sky, however, she stops thinking about it much at all. There is a faint glow coming from the lights of Ottery St. Catchpole, but other than that faint haze, the stars are unobstructed and bright in the early spring sky. Laying out here, shivering, she finds and silently names the constellations that she's learned from Astronomy. Her thoughts catch on a memory, her and Harry spending a few hours together at the top of the Astronomy tower the year before. It seems to have been ages ago, the way he had held her from behind, the invisibility cloak spread beneath them, as she pointed to stars and alignments, sharing with him a fascination with the stars that she intended to pursue further after her OWLS. He mad admitted to not loving astronomy, but told her in the quiet of that moment that looking at the stars with her gave him a new appreciation of them. She had agreed, quietly, that being with him made it all shine a bit brighter and made her wonder a bit more at the way the universe was pressing all around them, extensive and minuscule all at once. Now, she presses her hands to her eyes quickly, trying to hold back tears of frustration and nostalgia that blur the sky and make her lose sight of Aquarius. She suddenly knows just what to write, as she glares up at the twinkling stars. After a few more moments of shaking, both from the sobs that she can no longer hold in and from the cold of the midnight air, she makes her way back inside and up to her room. Sitting down at her desk, she grabs the paper that she had discarded earlier and begins to write.

_This may never find you, and I may never send it, but it's worth writing down. Sometimes I wonder where you are, if you're thousands of miles away or just in the next town over, but it's a waste of time to wonder. The point is, we're in this together, all of us. Remember when you told me that I put the stars into perspective for you. It wasn't quite that eloquent when you said it, but the meaning was there. I've been thinking about that, and some things make more sense now. The stars and space and whatever there is out there are pressing around us on all sides, holding us all to this world that we live in, and forcing us to live together in some way or another. I hate that you feel like you're in charge of keeping us all alive on this stupid rock, hate that you don't want my help for whatever reason, but I'm grateful for one thing. We live in a massive world, with a massive amount of people that we will never meet. But somehow, for some reason, you wanted me for awhile. Maybe you still do. Fuck it, I know you do. There's no denying it if I really think hard about it. Out of all of these infinite, ridiculous possibilities, I love you, and you feel something for me. The universe isn't forcing us together, but it's sure as hell making sure that I never give up on you. _


	3. iii, petite

**A/N:** I'm writing! It's September 1st! So, I am in fact posting this while on the train to Hogwarts. Better go change into my school robes.

**Disclaimer:** I want them but they're not mine.

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He's never seen her look so livid, and she's been livid before. After the battle, (a time he tries not to remember in details) cornering him in the common room, telling him that under no circumstances could she ever forgive him for swanning off and pretending to die, even if it _was _for the greater good. Granted, moments later their lips had been locked together as if by a very powerful magnet, but she'd still been livid. And now, her tiny form rigid, glaring up at her brother, he thinks he has never seen her look this firey, or this bloody attractive.

"It's absolutely none of your sodding business, Ronald."

Her voice is coming out in a hiss, and though Ron is trying to look as if he's standing his ground, his shocked and slightly fearful expression paired with the slow opening and closing of his mouth reveals the truth.

"Gin-" Harry tries, reaching out to touch her arm but she slaps his hand away, focusing her seething glare on him for a moment before turning back to her brother.

"I am an adult and you have no business telling me who I can and cannot snog," Ginny repeats, and Ron has the bad sense to look indignant and open his mouth again.

"You're only eighteen, and I happen to have good reason to think that there's more than just _snogging _going on." At these words he turns and casts Harry a suspicious glance, to which Harry shrugs, his hands up in front of him in surrender. Ginny just about growls.

"Snogging, _shagging_, who even bloody cares? It's my life and it's not like you're practicing what you preach _Ronald_," she spits his name, and punctuates it with a jab in his chest with her index finger. He looks even more affronted than before.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Ginny laughs, loud and humorlessly.

"Oh _don't _you?" she very nearly shrieks, "You don't think Harry and I can hear you and Hermione going at it every night? You really think you're that sneaky? Try a muffling curse or _something_, you enormous twit."

Ron seems to ignore the majority of her rant, focusing on one thing: "You and Harry? Are you sleeping in the same _bed_ now?" His face is turning very red, and Harry makes the sudden and seemingly appropriate decision to begin backing up very slowly, his hand near his wand pocket just in case.

"Once again, none of your business," Ginny seethes, but her cheeks are gloriously flushed, giving herself away.

"Well I'm older than you!" Ron continues, but he's running a hand through his red hair nervously because at his words Ginny turns even redder, looking as if she might punch him.

"Oh that's rich. Don't even try to tell me that you wouldn't have shagged her a year ago if you two had pulled your heads out of your arses and admitted your feelings _before_ everyone else figured it out."

Ron opens his mouth a few more times, casting a glance at Harry, who tenses.

"Just...keep it to yourselves," he finally says, and Harry's shoulders relax as he lets out a breath of relief.

"We will if you do," Ginny retorts, her eyes still narrowed impossibly, but she steps back slightly, allowing Ron to slip out from between her and the wall she'd had him backed against. He shoots a reproachful glance at Harry, who sees it fit to simply shrug again, and then leaves the room. Once he's gone, Ginny relaxes visibly, and he thinks it might be safe to grab her hand. He's rewarded: she squeezes it and then turns to press herself flush against him and press a soft but insistent kiss on his lips. He returns it gratefully. She stands on her toes, wrapping her arms around his neck and twining her fingers in his hair. When she pulls away she's smiling, and it makes his stomach flutter very pleasantly.

"He's going to castrate me in my sleep," Harry sighs, glancing around the doorframe to see if his best mate is lingering, ready to strike.

"If he does, he'll lose more than just his balls."

"Remind me never to make you mad," he says, and it comes out almost reverently. She laughs.

"As long as you never, I don't know, fake your death again." He immediately adopts a remorseful expression, but she's smiling, and she swats him on the arm playfully. "I'm just glad you're here to shag, even if it drives my brothers nutty. Actually, that might be a bonus."

Harry laughs, taking in her soft, pale skin, her smattering of freckles, her glowing halo of red hair. She stands on her toes again, pressing a kiss to his chin, and as he wraps her in his arms he can't help but feel just as glad as she does.

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**A/N:** They're my favorite. Stay tuned. More words coming soon. Reviews are my babies.


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